


Crema Verse Prompt Fill #11

by twobirdsonesong



Series: Crema Verse [13]
Category: Glee
Genre: Barista Blaine, Central Park, Crema verse, Established Relationship, M/M, Romance, Smut, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:50:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobirdsonesong/pseuds/twobirdsonesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>gingerandfair asked you: Okay, you said Central Park had sort of become their place … I want a little snapshot of them in the Park in the winter, having a snowball fight or building a snowman or something and being totally adorable and then going back home and cuddling by the fire and Blaine making his extra-special Kurt hot chocolate. Or something along those lines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crema Verse Prompt Fill #11

Winter arrives early that year, and it comes fast.  It slides down the river banks and ghosts along the curbs, winding its way with white-lined surety between the skyscrapers, leaving the subtle brush of frosty mornings and icy evenings in its wake.  Just the week before, it was mild and the sun was bright in the sky, even if all the trees were already stripped bare of their vibrant autumn colors.  But the fall has given way to the brusque urging of winter and there’s nothing to be done about it except pull heavy coats and boots from the backs of closets and wait until spring melts the snow and coaxes the grass back to life.

It’s just barely into November when Blaine wakes up to condensation on his poorly sealed single-pane windows and his breath fogging in the dense chill of his bedroom.  He knows that its snowed even before he opens his eyes; he can smell the sharp blue cold on the air and feel the raw ache deep in his bones, even underneath the thick layers of his blankets.  He hasn’t been leaving the heat on at night, to keep the bills down, but given the polar temperature of his bedroom, the time for that is over.  He could get up to turn the radiator on, but that would require throwing his blankets off and exposing himself further to the cold; Blaine pulls the covers up to his chin and curls his body into a tighter ball, trying to make a warmer little spot in the bed.

Even though the clock on the nightstand tells him that it’s almost 9:30am, there’s only a weak, grey light filtering through his window (he must have forgotten to draw the curtains in his exhaustion from last night’s unusual late shift at the store) and Blaine can feel himself drifting back to sleep.  He doesn’t have work that day, and he’s ahead of schedule with his assignments; he can sleep a little longer.  He watches the blurry drifting of the snow past the window until his eyes start to close.  His nose his cold and so are his toes, and he wishes he had the heat of Kurt’s body next to his to warm him up.  He wishes he could  _let_ himself have that. 

There’s a sudden knock on his front door and Blaine startles back awake.  He’s not expecting anyone - why would he?  Cooper is supposed to be in Vancouver shooting something-or-other that week, but that doesn’t mean anything at all.  Cooper has a tendency to show up when he’s least expected.

Steeling himself against the inevitable, painful burst of cold, Blaine throws the covers off and hops out of bed.  The floorboards are icy beneath his feet and Blaine hisses in shock before he finds his slippers; he hates wearing socks to bed, even if it means cold floors under his bare feet.  He pads softly through the living room, rubbing his hands together to get some warmth into his fingers, and opens the door, ready to give Cooper a seriously pissed off glare.

But it’s Kurt who is on the other side and Blaine’s breath catches in his throat.

Kurt is gorgeous, he’s always gorgeous, but the unexpected sight of him is like a visceral blow that leaves Blaine weak and gasping.  He’s wearing a heavy, dark grey double-breasted pea coat ( _worth two paychecks at least_ ) with the collar turned up against the cold and a pair of slim-fitting jeans tucked into snow boots that come halfway up his strong calves.  A thick, deep maroon knitted scarf (one Blaine hasn’t seen before) is wrapped around his throat and tucked down the front of his coat.  His hair is swept up and back, as perfect as ever, and his cheeks are already pinked from the winter chill.  Blaine suddenly feels as self-conscious as he ever has; he’s just in his old flannel sleep pants and long-sleeved grey-green Henley that has a hole under one arm and a splatter of a coffee stain at the hem.

“Morning,” Kurt chirps, and his smile is sweet and private and it sends a little frisson of warmth through Blaine.  “I’d have called you, but my hands are full.”

Kurt is carrying two cups of coffee and a little paper bag in his gloved hands - not from a Starbucks - and it’s all Blaine can do not to stare open-mouthed.

 _How are you real?_ He thinks, and not for the first or last time.   _How are you with me?_

“Medium drip.  Bold.  With a bit of cream and some cinnamon sprinkled on top.” Kurt holds one of the cups out to him with a sly little grin curving his lips and Blaine takes it automatically.  The heat of the coffee permeates his hand and travels up his arm to his chest where it settles down deep, as comforting and reassuring as Kurt’s own hand in his or his arm wrapped around Blaine’s waist when he stays the night.

“You know my coffee order,” Blaine blurts out instead of  _thank you_ , with wonder and amazement thick in his voice.  He doesn’t know how long this thing between them will last - he  _wants_ forever, but there are no guarantees of anything.  But every time Kurt surprises him like this (and it’s often), Blaine thinks that forever might just be a possibility.

“Of course I do.”  Kurt’s eyes are grey-blue and glittering with fondness as he leans in and presses a quick kiss to Blaine’s cheek, and then a lingering one to his mouth.  Blaine wants to shy away because he hasn’t brushed his teeth, but Kurt doesn’t seem to mind; he never does.  Blaine tastes espresso on Kurt’s tongue and a hint of chocolate behind his teeth.  He wants to draw Kurt close to him and warm his hands on the silky skin of Kurt’s thighs.

“Now,” Kurt says, and his voice has gone a little husky and his cheeks are flushed for an entirely different reason beyond the cold.  “Invite me in and go get dressed.  We’re going for a walk in the park.”

*** 

The subway isn’t packed - it’s still early on a cold and snowy Saturday morning - and there’s more than enough room for them both to sit.  Blaine remembers another subway ride to the Park, when they’d ended up standing pressed up against each other, so intimately close it hurt not to just reach out and touch the man he hardly knew at all.  Blaine can’t stop the little smile that crosses his face.  Kurt notices though, he notices everything, and he shifts just a bit closer to him on the bench and hooks his foot around Blaine’s ankle as they share the croissants that Kurt bought for breakfast.  He bought two of them, but they pick at the same pastry together, taking sips of coffee between bites and sharing knowing looks whenever some of New York’s more colorful residents enter or exit the car.

Blaine feels a little underdressed sitting next to Kurt, who is always so impeccably put together.  Even when he’s down to his snug boxer-briefs and his skin is flushed and he’s panting softly, encouragingly from Blaine’s hesitant, learning touches.

Blaine’s got a thick Columbia jacket on that neither the icy breeze nor the melting snow can get through.  It was expensive, sure, but it’s an investment that’s seen him through many a Nor’easter.  His own scarf, black and boring in the face of Kurt’s beautiful, probably handmade one, is snug around his neck and his jeans are his most comfortable pair.  They show off the full curve of his ass without being as obvious about it as the white pants he’d worn on their first date.  He’d wanted to wear his favorite beanie, because it helps keep his ears warm when his hair is shorter like this, but the wool hat has the tendency to make his curls frizzy, and he’s still so desperate to impress Kurt any way that he can.  Kurt’s eyes linger on his thighs though, and the line of his jaw, and Blaine thinks, he  _hopes_ , that he’s still sufficiently interesting to Kurt.

They get off at the 81st street stop and Blaine has another thrilling rush of remembrance of their first date - how they’d walked through the park, how the warm sunlight had glinted in the highlights of Kurt’s hair and reflected in his arresting eyes, how Kurt had taken him to the top of the Castle and surprised him with a heart-stopping kiss.  Blaine is still learning this man who has so captivated his very being, and every new moment together, every new facet of Kurt that he sees pulls Blaine in deeper; he won’t say he’s in love, he doesn’t  _know_ love, but he thinks he might be figuring it out.

The roads have already been plowed, sanded, and salted, and the snow piled along the curbs is quickly turning a dirty grey, but Central Park stretches out a vast, pristine, white escape. 

The snow is falling, lighter than it was when Blaine first woke up, but still steady, and it catches in their eyelashes and melts in their hair.  Kurt’s fingers brush against his wrist, just under the hem of his sleeve, before he takes Blaine’s hand in his, slotting their fingers together. Blaine grins at him, helplessly happy, and squeezes Kurt’s hand.  He can’t feel the warmth of his skin through the layers of their gloves, but the pressure of his fingers is more than enough.

The Park is alive with people out enjoying the first snowfall of the year and the sounds of laughter and delighted screams punctuate the usually still-quiet of the grounds.  There are children in brightly colored jackets scampering everywhere - chasing each other through the snow and sledding down Pilgrim Hill.  Families walk together with their dogs and giggling friends build snowmen; couples hold hands and stay close for added warmth.  Blaine used to play in the snow every winter, with his brother.  He and Cooper would have snowman building contests; Coop’s were always taller, but somehow Blaine always won.

Blaine glances over at Kurt; he’s grinning at a little girl who has created a snow wall and is hiding behind it as her brother tries to throw handfuls of snow at her.  It’s been a while since he’s felt as carefree as those young children, but walking through Central Park with Kurt solid and  _real_  at his side, he is deliriously exultant, full to bursting with something he can’t quite name.  His feet are getting cold despite the thick socks and heavy boots and his scarf is starting to get wet from the snow, but Blaine feels warmed through and through with the affection and delight that is blooming in his chest and belly.  This is happiness and he never wants it to go away.  He feels light with it.

“What?” Kurt asks, catching him staring.  Blaine just shakes his head and presses a kiss to Kurt’s cheek.  His skin is cool beneath Blaine’s lips, but he can feel a blush surging to the surface at the light touch.  Blaine’s gut clenches at the thought that he affects Kurt so strongly; he thrills at the smallest touch of Kurt’s fingers and the ghost of his lips across his own skin.

 _So this is defying gravity_ , Blaine thinks, giddy, and he shakes his head at himself.

They walk on, following the familiar paths as the deepening snow crunches under their boots, and Blaine finds himself so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice Kurt swiping a handful of snow off of a bench until it’s too late.  He stops and stares in shock at the remnants of the lightly packed snowball sliding down his chest.  Kurt is laughing - outright laughing and almost doubled over with it - and the sound is like music, joyful and wonderful, and it carries on the air with the drifting snow.

Of course, that snowball is merely the opening salvo and Blaine lets go of Kurt’s hand to reach down and grab his own handful of snow.  He has a brother, after all, and he knows how to have a snowball fight.  Kurt’s eyes widen, so blue in the grey light, and he takes off running, quick as lightning even in his fitted coat and heavy boots, but Blaine’s arm is strong, and the snow hits him square in the back.  Kurt spins around and he’s still laughing, open and blithe, even as he gathers up more snow to sling back at Blaine.  His aim is true and Blaine gasps and shudders to his toes as the wet cold smacks him right in the face.  The snow slips under his collar and freezes his neck, but he doesn’t care at all.  He’s made Kurt laugh today. 

They chase each other down the path like children, gasping on the cold air, throwing snow back and forth, and shrieking whenever it hits bare skin.  Kurt manages to circle around behind him and shove an entire handful down the back of his coat and Blaine can hardly breathe for how cold it is and how hard he’s laughing.  He gets Kurt back with a well-aimed snowball to the chest that explodes up into his face and suddenly Kurt falls onto his back, arms and legs splayed wide.

“I surrender!” Kurt gasps out, still giggling – high and boyish and utterly gorgeous.

Blaine takes his phone out and quickly snaps a few pictures of Kurt - so bright and happy and effervescent that it almost hurts to look at him.  Kurt’s hair and lashes are wet with snow and his ears are bright red from the cold and Blaine doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as wonderful or as beautiful as him.  He’s thankful he’s been given this long with Kurt, but he hopes for more, so much more. 

 _Please let me have this_.

“Blaine, get over here!” Kurt calls out, and Blaine shoves his phone back into an inner pocket of his jacket.  Without thinking about what it might look like to anyone walking by, he flops down onto the snow bank next to Kurt and sketches a messy snow angel.

He is cold, frozen down to his bones, and Kurt must be too, but Kurt is at his side and making his own snow angel, and Blaine only wants to stay there with him forever.  He would build Kurt an igloo if it meant never leaving his side.  But the numbness spreading through his limbs argues otherwise.

“We should go,” Blaine says.  He rolls onto his side and he bumps his cold nose against Kurt’s jaw.  He can’t believe he’s doing this in public; he never would have before.  But then again, there are a lot of things he’d never considered doing before Kurt. “Warm up at a café or something.”

“I want to go back to your place.”  Kurt’s voice is soft, but dangerous in what he’s suggesting.  His eyes have gone that dark, stormy grey they turn when he and Blaine are twined close together on the couch, moving slow and careful, but learning.

“I don’t have a fireplace to get warm in front of,” Blaine murmurs.  The heat is curling low and languid in his belly.  It’s been forever since he’s felt this kind of slow-burning arousal for someone, but Kurt makes him feel it every day.

“You’re warm enough for me.”

The line is so ridiculously cheesy, but it makes Blaine ache anyway.  “Ok.”

***

The radiator whines in protest when Blaine turns it on, but the heat comes all the same.

They leave their dripping boots at the door and hang up their sodden jackets; the loose floorboard creaks under their steps, but Blaine hardly hears it at all.  The subway ride back to Blaine’s place had been painfully slow; it didn’t help that Kurt spent most of it stroking small circles against his wrist and smiling at him in a  _knowing_  way.

Kurt unwraps his scarf and playfully throws it around Blaine’s neck.  The fabric is wet and cold against his bare skin and he shivers as he laughs.  Kurt is laughing too, high and joyful, and his eyes have disappeared into the crinkles of his smile as he curls his fingers in the edges of the scarf and pulls Blaine into a deep, easy kiss.  His lips find Blaine’s even as his eyes close.

Blaine moans into it; he can’t help it.  Everything is still so new and hesitant and frightening at times, when they’re kissing – wet and heated and dirty – and Kurt has his shirt off and he’s working at Blaine’s and Blaine has no idea what to do at all.  His hands feel huge and clumsy and he worries he smells of stale espresso.

But Kurt is so very patient with him, and Blaine still can’t figure out why.  There must be hundreds,  _thousands_ of men out there who see Kurt - in the hallways at work, on the streets, out buying his groceries - and pine for just a chance with him.  But Kurt pursued  _him_ , Kurt wants  _him_  – small, overlooked, insecure Blaine – who’s never done _this_ before and isn’t even sure if he can.

Kurt peels Blaine’s wet clothes off for him – his thick cardigan, the long sleeved shirt underneath, his wet jeans – and leaves them in a pile at his feet.  His fingers are sure and reverent as they stroke across each newly bared bit of skin, lingering on the cut of Blaine’s hips, his soft inner thighs, the solid weight of his collarbone.  The subtle curve of Blaine’s belly would embarrass him, but Kurt has spent enough time peppering it with kisses before sliding his mouth lower that Blaine is learning not to care that he’s not male-model perfect.  Kurt leaves Blaine’s underwear on, and Blaine is thankful.  They’ve been naked together before, but they haven’t done  _that_ , not yet, even if sometimes Blaine wakes up, hard and aching, and can think of nothing else but how it might feel.  What it might be like.

“You too,” Blaine says, and he starts unbuttoning Kurt’s sweater.  Kurt’s eyes are hot on him, and so are his hands when he helps get his damp, clinging clothes off onto the floor.

Blaine’s eyebrows raise in surprise when he unzips Kurt’s fly and works his pants over his hips and down his thighs.  Kurt has a pair of Under Armor running tights on beneath his jeans ( _it’s really cold ok?_ ) and Blaine wants to cup the hard bulk of him that’s so obvious beneath the thin, tight fabric.  He trembles to know that he could do just that; that it’s allowed, that it’s wanted.  Instead, he slides them down and off Kurt’s long, strong legs and adds them to the pile of clothes on the floor.

Smiling softly, knowingly, Kurt guides him back towards the couch.  Blaine reclines willing, spreading his thighs for Kurt to fit between and opening his mouth for Kurt’s tongue.  He’s already shaking – a fine tremor running all through his limbs.  Every time they do this it affects him so powerfully, so deeply that it scares Blaine.  Kurt’s mouth is hot on Blaine’s, and so is his body, and his hips start up a slow, but insistent rhythm that has Blaine panting into Kurt’s mouth in moments.  He’s hard and aching and the pressure and friction of Kurt rocking against him makes want and craving coil low in Blaine’s groin.

He’s so painfully inexperienced, but his body knows how to do this.  Blaine grips at Kurt’s ass, fingers digging into the tight, flexing muscles, and his head falls back against the armrest as he gasps for air.  Kurt’s mouth is on his throat, sucking a bruise deep into his skin, and Blaine whines, loud and needy, as the heat and the tension rise higher and higher.  He flushes hot down to his chest; he’s slick with gathering sweat and melted snow and Kurt’s taut belly slides easily against his.  Kurt’s thighs are heated and firm against his own as his hips push hard into him, over and over, until the tight coil in Blaine’s belly snap and he comes on a aching groan, clutching at Kurt and gasping for breath.  He can feel it when Kurt comes – the jerking of his cock beneath the fabric of their underwear and the obscenely obvious wet spread of heat across his hip.

Kurt settles down on his chest and Blaine sweeps a shaking hand up Kurt’s sweat-slick back in broad strokes.  His muscles are trembling and Blaine can hear him panting softly; he can feel Kurt’s moist breath hot against his cooling skin.  Blaine closes his eyes and breathes in deep the mingled scent of their sweat and musk and come.

Blaine feels shattered and held together all at once.  He doesn’t know when he’ll be ready for it, but he knows he wants to do everything with Kurt.  Blaine wants him enough, he  _trusts_  him enough that his past, his painful failures and missteps, fall away at the careful touch of Kurt’s hands and worshiping press of his lips.

He just hopes that Kurt is willing to wait for him, for however long it takes.  And when Kurt shifts, just enough to lean up and press a sleepy kiss to Blaine’s chin and whisper, “thanks for going on that walk with me,” before tucking his face back into Blaine’s neck, Blaine is pretty sure Kurt is more than willing to wait just a little bit longer.


End file.
